We'll Wing It
by Lampito
Summary: They're travelling again, with a little moment in time just to enjoy each other's company, but he still has one eye on his little brother, because the Big Brother Within never sleeps. Follows directly after 'Can You Dig It'. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** Just playing at the Kripke art and craft table, carving a couple of OCs out of his Play-doh.

**TITLE:** We'll Wing It

**SUMMARY:** They're travelling again, with a little moment in time just to enjoy each other's company, but he still has one eye on his little brother, because the Big Brother Within never sleeps...

**RATING: K+ **Shock! Amazement! Howls of derisive laughter! True dinks though.

**SETTING: **Follows directly after 'Can You Dig It?' By popular demand from the Denizens of the Jimiverse, a couple of OCs make their debut...

**BLAME:** All my fics are ENTIRELY the fault of the Denizens of the Jimiverse, who keep encouraging me by sending kind reviews and helpful critique. This one is ESPECIALLY the fault of Ciya, TwilightPrincess1126, NanC, aeicha, Paralesky, elf, Firedancer885, Leahelisabeth, and _ESPECIALLY _ESPECIALLY PaulatheCat, and any others who subsequently join in with the strident insistence that this must be written...

So, hope you enjoy.

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><p><strong>We'll Wing It<strong>

How long had it been? How long, since they had a moment, between one place and another, just to be them, and enjoy each other's company? No longer _here_, but not arrived _there_ yet.

Time moved… differently, somehow, like this, rushing past like the wind, the scenery, the smell of distant rain, and the contentment of the journey.

He grinned to himself, enjoying the breeze on his face, one eye on his brother out of the habit of countless years. It wouldn't last, of course – they were headed to a new job, and something deeply ingrained in him wouldn't have it any other way, but for now… just right now, it was all good.

"Oh, look, look!" exclaimed his younger brother, suddenly animated and pointing excitedly at a tall building of intricate architecture. "Look at that! Stop! Can we stop? Just to look at it?" He turned on that pleading expression that he knew his older brother could never resist.

"Yeah, okay, we should probably be looking for a place for tonight, anyway," he conceded, slowing down. He was actually tired. But it wouldn't do to admit that in front of his little brother. He stretched, then did a joyous barrel roll for the sheer hell of it…

He heard the cry of surprise as he levelled out, and saw the problem immediately. Taken unawares by a downdraft, his little brother tumbled helplessly, wings thrashing, as he tried to regain trim. Without thinking, he pulled in his pinions and arrowed after his sibling.

"Gotcha!" he exclaimed triumphantly, talons closing firmly around a waving arm. With three strong beats, he had his sibling upright, and hovering unassisted. "What did I tell you about that?" he scolded, his fear and relief venting as anger. "These big towns make everything move funny. Updrafts, downdrafts, eddies, dead air. How many times do I have to tell you? You have to be careful!"

"I don't need you to take care of me!" his brother shot back, yanking his arm away.

"Could have fooled me, you overgrown troll," he commented gruffly, reaching out to ruffle the lichen on his brother's head. "You ought to get rid of that – people will think you're a Venus figurine." He was rewarded with the scowling expression he'd always thought of as his little brother's 'gravelpuss' face. "Come on," he coaxed, "Let's go check out your architecture. You have an unnatural fascination with flying buttresses and ornate spires, you know."

"You know you want to look around, as well," he brother appraised knowingly. "Find yourself a like-minded waterspout, one that's all nice and puckered up - after all this time, you're so predictable."

"Hey, it would be a crime to let this magnificent carving go to waste. This phallus used to scare the hell out of the clergy, you know."

"Not all of them. I remember the time Brother Matthias got into the sacramental wine, and climbed up on our roof as a dare from one of the other Novices, and he tied that big pink bow around it, and Abbot Reinhart nearly gave himself a heart attack laughing while he was trying to chastise the boys for impiety, and the whole order secretly laughed at it every day for weeks until it was finally blown away…"

"Wretch."

"Fiend."

They circled and descended carefully, avoiding detection in the rapidly dwindling light, landing silently on the roof of the church. His younger brother perched lightly on the very edge of the guttering.

He wasn't all that keen on ecclesiastical architecture himself. He had been, once, when he was a lot younger, but now, the intricate swirls and confections in stone held too many memories for him…

_The crackle and hiss of fire, tearing through the ancient wood__en interior of the building, the screams of the brothers as they tried to save the church, and then themselves… the flames, the stone-cracking heat, coming nearer and nearer… the kindly old man, shunned by his community for his Knowledge, appearing in his night-clothes, screaming the incantation desperately above the roar of the collapsing walls… grabbing his new brother, just arrived and so recently carved he couldn't move his wings properly, and wrenching him from the barely-set mortar… the horrific, lurching flight to the old man's home, to perch terrified on the roof, while the compassionate old scholar did what he could to comfort them, and promised to find them a new home, somehow…_

He shook himself, and looked back at his little brother, who peered eagerly to the north-west; he knew his sibling wasn't just watching the sun go down.

"That way?" he asked. His brother nodded happily, scenting the air and scrying the destination that the incantation had pointed them to. Despite his youth, he was the one who really had the talent for that sort of thing. "It should only take us a few days," he said. He turned to his older brother. "What do you think it will be like, Tiem?" he asked, a little bit eager, a little bit anxious. "What kind of a job will it be?"

"It will be wonderful, Zan," he assured his younger sibling. "We'll do what we were born to do: we arrive, we scope out the location… then we wing it." His little brother smiled at him, reassured.

"Well, I think I spotted an actual sheela-na-gig on our way down," he grinned toothily at his brother (yep, there it was again, the gravelpuss), "So why don't you roost, and I'll see you by dawn."

"You are incorrigible," rumbled his little brother, with a fond undertone, as he relaxed into the contented stillness of a gargoyle settling in place for a while. "Don't get that magnificent phallus stuck, Tiem, I'm roosting."

"Good night, Zanny," the elder gargoyle winked, ruffling his little brother's lichen again affectionately. He smiled to himself; he would miss Fardlehaus Hall, but he had his brother with him, and he had a feeling that they had a lot to look forward to at Singer Salvage.

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><p>Just a one-shot, until the Update Inspiration Fairy hits.<p>

Reviews are the Adorable Gargoyles on the Roof Of Life!


	2. Chapterlet 2

No idea where this came from, it just popped into my head, and it's been a long day, and the dog ate the meat defrosting for dinner, and the 1000 has a nail in the back wheel in a BRAND NEW $400 TYRE and all hell's breaking loose at work and I think this is what happens when my brain goes into a self-protective emergency shut-down... well, what exactly would a couple of gargoyles get up to on a 'road' trip anyway?

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><p>Zan moved before the sun was up, skittering lightly up over the steep roof peak to the other side, to watch the sun come up, reds and golds and purple clouds washing out as dawn broke. He sat very still, watching, admiring the view. It had been a long time since he'd watched a sunrise. The air smelled crisp and cold, and hung dense and still. Good flying weather. The pull of their destination buzzed at the edge of his senses, calling cheerfully to him...<p>

His reverie was broken by a smug self-satisfied chuckle, and a confused squawking noise. Curious, he went to investigate.

Then wished he hadn't.

His big brother Tiem had caught a pigeon, and was holding it carefully but securely. The bird was making bewildered bird noises. Its beady little eye caught Zan's own, and regarded him with that half-startled, half-demented expression that all pigeons have. It was a look that said, "No, I have no idea what's going on, so don't ask me. One minute I was roosting in a quiet corner, dreaming about a loaf of stale bread the size of a minivan, and the next, Cackling Crackpot here has grabbed me, and is laughing to himself in a manner that is become more disturbing with every passing minute."

"Tiem, what are you doing? You cannot possibly be that hungry, so soon," he told his brother. "You had a whole squirrel yesterday morning."

Tiem grinned up at him. "This isn't about food, Zanny," he announced.

"Then what is it about?" asked Zan curiously.

Tiem's grin widened even further, and his eyes sparkled, as he spoke one word: "Revenge."

Zan continued to stare at his brother, bewildered. Rather than explain, Tiem decided to demonstrate.

He shifted his grip on the pigeon, and...

Squatted over it...

"Heh heh..."

"Aaaaaargh!" squawked Zan, wings wrapping around himself so he couldn't see what his brother was doing. "You are the most revolting thing ever carved!" He scooted back over a slope in the roof to get away from his brother's disgusting amusement.

"Oh yes!" Tiem laughed, raising his voice so that Zan would hear him, "Tell me, now, how do YOU like it, Mr Feather-Brains?"

"You were definitely carved out of a coprolite!" yelled Zan, stomping back across the roof.

Tiem joined him a few minutes later.

"That is one pigeon at least that will think twice before it relieves itself on decorative stonework," he announced smugly.

"Fiend."

"Wretch."

* * *

><p>I blame climate change. And the hole in the ozone layer. More tea, please. And my medication.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Well, since so many Denizens of the Jimiverse are keen to see some more of Tiem and Zan the gargoyles, I suppose I'd better declare this story 'In Progress' again, and write something. This threatens to be GWP (Gargoyles Without Plot), but I suppose they can be amusing just being themselves. I will see what I can do about some sort of actual story line.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

_She'd found it. Her book. Finally. It was here. And as a special bonus, she'd found him, too._

_She was sure it was him. Older, fatter, and slower, but it was him. There was no mistaking the man – the Hunter, she spat at the mere thought of the word – who'd stolen her grimoire, foiled her plans, and sent her to Hell years before her deal came due. Oh yes, she remembered him. She'd had hundreds of years' Hellside time on the rack to think about what he'd done, and thousands after that to dream of exacting revenge…_

_She'd clawed her way out of the Pit through sheer bloody-mindedness, and she fully intended to send him back in her place._

_It wasn't going to be easy. The place was warded like a fortress. The dogs would give warning of her approach, but would be no obstacle; one of them was still only a puppy. Two bitches, though, warned a small voice at the back of her mind, the females of the species can be more deadly than the males… that made her smile._

_This would be so much easier if she just had her book! She would have so much power again, once she just got hold of her book..._

_Patience, she told herself. She had waited this long, she could wait a few more days, and only Topside days, at that. It was slow, difficult work, but she was picking her way carefully through the wards. He would die slowly, screaming, his feet tangling in his own guts, the stench of his roasting flesh in his nostrils. Maybe she'd kill the dogs in front of him. Or maybe she'd feed them his entrails while he watched. She'd decide later. And then she decided, what she really needed to do was swap to a different meat-suit. Or maybe just kill this one. A dead one might be more convenient, if it was fresh enough and pretty enough – of course she wanted to be pretty, hadn't that been part of her original deal? – because the anguished wailing in the back of her mind being generated by the original occupant of the one she currently inhabited was getting to be really annoying._

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"You are disgusting, you know that?" Zan sighed at his brother, as the older gargoyle spotted the winking red fragments glittering on the side of the deserted road. "You eat so much junk!"

Tiem grinned, pulled in his wings, and plunged earthward like a missile, adjusting his attitude pinions at the last moment to swoop past and snatch up the broken pieces.

He rejoined his brother, crunching happily on his haul. "You want some?" he asked, proffering a handful of fragments, "The red bits are the best!"

"No, thank you," replied Zan, with a slight gravelpuss expression. "That stuff is bad for you, you know," he said reproachfully, "It's full of polycarbonate, there's not a single bit of silicon in it."

"I don't care, it tastes good," grinned Tiem, shovelling more bits of tail light lens into his mouth.

"It's artificial," persisted Zan, "You'll regret it one day, two hundred years from now, you'll wake up one day and notice how fast you're eroding…"

"Hey I gotta erode from something," shrugged Tiem philosophically, crunching cheerfully on his snack. Zan rolled his eyes, and they resumed their journey. They had been travelling north-west for several days, taking the opportunity to enjoy the freedom of flight and each other's company, but now they were nearing their destination, they both felt the mingled excitement and trepidation of the invitation to their next duty.

They stopped for the night on a tall, modern building that had a clear view for miles around. Whilst looking for a suitable roosting site, they encountered a lit window. Inside, a woman was reading a book to a group of children.

"She's reading a book, Tiem!" whispered Zan excitedly, peering intently in on the scene.

Tiem smiled; after that terrifying flight to the old man's home in the forest, the smoke of the burning church still hanging in the air, Zan had been too young and too traumatised even to roost properly. The kindly old hermit had sat with him on the ground, reading to him, while Tiem resolutely sat sentinel on the roof, gripping the thatch to stop his own claws from shaking. Eventually, Zan began to eat again, and practise flapping his wings, with Tiem hovering just off the ground in demonstration while the old man of Knowledge cheered encouragement, but he remained entranced by stories and books. Especially after the hermit taught him the basics of reading. Back at Fardlehaus Hall, his little brother had sometimes crept the length of the roof and down a storey, to listen at the windows of the library.

"Just don't get caught, all right?" Tiem told him. Zan nodded, tuning in to the story and not taking his eyes away from the reader. Tiem moved away to a raised ridge of tiles, positioned himself so that he could keep one eye on his brother, and roosted.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

The next day, they set a quicker pace, as their destination neared. Finally, on dusk, they arrived, and perched in a nearby tree.

"This is it, Tiem. Look! It says, 'Singer Auto Salvage'," Zan told him proudly, pointing down to the sign above the gates, barely containing his excitement.

Tiem nodded absently. He didn't need his brother's reading demonstration to know that they were _here_. The sense of _here_ thrummed through him.

And what a _here_ it was. The sense of lore permeated the place. It was criss-crossed with wards, traps, amulets and gris-gris…

As they watched, an older man, with a short beard, wearing a hat, emerged from the house, carrying two bowls, which he put down for two dogs that greeted him enthusiastically, tails wagging even as they sat for their dinner.

Tiem gasped. He hardly dared believe their luck – the authority radiated from the man in the yard.

They had been invited to take duty with a man of Knowledge.

"Will we roost on the gates?" his brother asked a little breathlessly. "Or up there? Do you see the breaching in the wards? Will we call warning? Is that… is that…" he narrowed his eyes, using his gargoyle long-distance sight to stare at one dimly lit window. "Books," he breathed, "A room of books, so many books…"

"We will wait," his brother told him firmly, even as the younger gargoyle practically hopped from one clawed foot to the other in excitement, "And we will do this properly. Properly." He settled to roost and wait, hoping that his stillness would quiet the fidgeting of his little brother. "Stop bouncing around like that, anyone who sees you will think you're a particularly oversized and unattractive pigeon."

"Fiend."

"Wretch."

After the sun went down, the gargoyles stirred. Most of the lights in the house went out. Silence hung in the cool evening air.

Tiem nudged Zan. "It's time."

Zan shook out his wings. "What do we do?"

Tiem squared his shoulders. "We introduce ourselves, and explain our credentials of invitation," he said. "We have been invited, Zanny, but not retained to duty. Remember that."

Zan looked like some mean person had snatched away his quartz nodule mid-snack. "But… but we'll be able to stay, won't we?" he asked hesitantly, "Here? Take duty here? He's a man of Knowledge. This place is warded. What does it guard, I wonder?"

"First things first," Tiem reiterated. "Come on. We present ourselves to the Guardian, and hope to be accepted." He dropped from the branch, and swept down to the ground in front of the house, his brother close behind him.

The dogs in the yard sat and watched curiously as the gargoyles landed cautiously. Closer now, Zan could see that it was a bitch, and her pup. They seemed strangely unconcerned, but then it occurred to him that any dog who lived in a place of lore like this would be no stranger to the less usual things that walked the world. Sitting under her gaze, he was grateful for his wings. This was a large, self-assured dog, but there was something about the smaller one, the bitch-pup, that hinted at frightening force…

So it was with some trepidation that he hung back as his brother approached the dogs, and made his bow to the elder one.

"We give greetings, Guardian of Lore, and ask your leave to present ourselves for duty."

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><p>I wonder of Bobby has any lewd garden gnomesses in the yard? Will I have to write some in?<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

I wish I could draw, I'd love a picture of the two of them, maybe Zan frowning in disapproval at where Tiem decides to wear a bow tie...

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

The first thing Bobby noticed when he stepped outside in the morning to be greeted by his dogs, was that his truck was mercifully free of pigeon crap. He had been trying for three weeks to convince a small but very determined, very stubborn and very incontinent flock of pigeons to move out of the roof of one of his sheds. He was damned sick of cleaning pigeon crap, one of the most corrosive substances known to carkind, off the paintwork. Damned rats with wings had finally taken the hint.

The second thing Bobby noticed when he stepped outside was that the box of broken headlights and indicators he'd had sitting by one of the sheds, pulled out of their salvageable housings and ready to be disposed of, was nearly empty once mre.

The third thing he noticed, with a wry sigh, was that Dean Winchester had been At It Again.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd managed it – he'd last spoken to the Winchesters a couple of days ago, about the job they were taking care of in Oregon – but Dean Winchester had to be the reason that there were now two gargoyles atop his yard's gates.

It wouldn't be the first time that the self-proclaimed Prankmeister had left something for Bobby to find. There had been the giant rubber goldfish he found in his bathtub when the boy was ten. How he'd smuggled a rubber fish bigger than himself to the yard, and installed it in the tub, without being seen, remained a mystery. Then, when Dean was fourteen, a pair of painstakingly taxidermied chupacabras, posed in what could only be described as 'intimate congress', had showed up under the comforter in his bed one night. Setting a new house rule of 'no critters live or dead or stuffed or synthetic in the house' didn't really help: a few years later, the central part of the Sioux Falls shopping centre nativity scene was somehow teleported to his roof (Dean must've had trouble with the Mary figure, because Baby Jesus was instead being suckled by an inflatable Michelin Man).

He wandered to the gates, coffee in hand, to inspect what was presumably Dean's latest work. He had to admire the logistics of it, if nothing else: two large stone gargoyles, carved out of what looked to be granite, sat atop the pillars of the gates. How the hell had he transported them? He must've done it with Sam's collaboration, because hauling them up there and getting them to stay put would be at least a two-man job, and then probably only with a winch…

He frowned, inspecting the gargoyles more closely. One of them was clearly older than the other, looking a bit more weathered, and had a most impressive… yes, well…

"Wonder what your carver was compensatin' for," Bobby grinned.

The other one was a bit larger, and had a luxuriant crop of lichen growing on its head.

He studied them, sipping thoughtfully at his coffee. Whoever had carved them had really known his stuff: the expressions on their faces were terribly… convincing. The younger one, on the gate closest to the house, had a smile that put him in mind of a small child on the way to a carnival, while the older one looked… 'hungover' wasn't the right word, but its smirk was wan, rather than sunny.

Bobby had Hunted, and if anything, his current role as fount of wisdom had honed his instincts for matters occult, magical, supernatural and weird.

Right now, on a scale of one to ten, his weirdometer was reading about twelve point five.

He fetched a ladder, and under the concerned gaze of Rumsfeld and Janis, climbed up to inspect the gargoyles more closely. He wanted to know how the hell they had been secured there…

The talons of the older one were wrapped tightly around the thin, flimsy-looking ironwork of the sign. He gave it an experimental shove. It was absolutely solid, as the other one proved to be.

And so they sat there, gazing resolutely out to the horizon. One with a perpetual hard-on, and one with an unruly mop top. He couldn't help but grin.

"So, what do you think of the new décor, ladies?" he asked back on the ground.

Janis barked excitedly and ran in a small circle, while her mother Rumsfeld grinned doggily in approval.

"Okaaay," he said, largely to himself but perhaps not entirely, "Why don't you two up there just make yourselves at home for now, while I go and check some stuff out?"

Bobby put his ladder away, then went back inside to consult the pile of books Sam had procured during their trip to deal with the revenant old students of Fardlehaus Hall, in particular a handwritten journal of the school's history.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he was blaming the wrong Winchester.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"You're kidding," said Sam into the phone. _What?_ Dean semaphored with his eyebrows, mouth full of corn chips, as his brother flapped a hand at him. "No, it definitely wasn't us! No, he couldn't have, we've been together the whole time. Bobby, we're in Oregon! Exactly the same as the pictures in the journal? Yeah… yeah… uh, well, I might've, when I transcribed it… um, actually, funny you should ask, because I did think that… well, I thought they'd give the place, I dunno, ambiance! You know, a gothic sort of feel… It just seemed like such a shame that they'd be bulldozed… Okay… okay, send it through, and I'll have a look."

"Wa' 'at Bo'y?" asked Dean, spraying crumbs.

"Gah! You're disgusting," winced Sam, as Jimi began to lick up the pieces of corn chip that his Alpha had sprayed on his Second's jeans. "Yeah, it was Bobby. He says two gargoyles have shown up on his gates." He tapped at his laptop. "He thinks it might be the ones from the roof of Fardlehaus Hall. He's gonna send pictures…." _tappity tappity clack_ "…Oh."

"Gargoygles?" repeated Dean, finally swallowing, "Somebody's pranking him with gargoyles, we're three states away and he's blaming us?"

"Well, you do have a record," mused Sam. "Remember Fishzilla? And the Chupacabra Sutra? And All-Terrain Baby Jesus?" He peered at the photos Bobby had sent through. "Oh."

"What's 'oh'? 'Oh', as in 'oh', or 'oh', as in _'oh!_' ?" enquired Dean, peering over Sam's shoulder. "Hey, I admire that one," he grinned, pointing at one of the gargoyles, "Clearly a gargoyle who knows what he wants and how to get it."

"No, 'oh' as in 'oh, it's them'," specified Sam, recognising the gargoyles. "Although I don't remember that one smiling quite so sunnily."

"He needs a haircut," Dean decided, "Or else, somebody oughtta braid his lichen for him. So, how did gargoyles from Fartingass school end up at Bobby's?"

Sam blushed a little. "He thinks that I may have, er, sent them. I didn't do it on purpose!" he added quickly. "There was this description of an inscription, on a stone, that was up on the room with them and got blown down years ago, it was written in Greek but it was actually Latin and I wondered what it was."

"And?" prompted Dean.

"And, I transcribed it, and… I might've read it out aloud," finished Sam, looking sheepish.

"Oh, no, Sam," sighed Dean, "You know better than to read something weird aloud until you know exactly what it might do. I thought you learned that, after you tried to 'help' me with my Latin when you were thirteen?"

"That was different!" declared Sam defensively, "I didn't know you were watching Star Trek when you were supposed to be studying!"

"Yeah, well, my ass remembers how unimpressed Dad was by my ability to recite three different exorcism rites in flawless Klingon," grumbled Dean. "And I'm sure I need not mention that brilliant scheme of yours a mere twelve months later, when you decided that starting your own occult ammunition breeding scheme would save us money…"

"It was meant to be parthenogenic! I didn't know the guns would try to have sex!" Sam complained, shuddering at the memory. If a friend at that school hadn't had a father who was a gunsmith, Dad would've murdered him if he'd found the two shotguns stuck together like that…

"What I'm getting at is, you should know better," insisted Dean. "You're supposed to be the smart one. So, what does he want us to do?"

"He says he's going to look into it, but it isn't a problem for now," replied Sam, still a little hurt by having two early occult failures thrown back at him. "We can head on back when we finish this job."

"Okay." Dean peered into the corn chip bag. "There really isn't enough in here to call that breakfast," he decided, "Come on Samantha, let's go get food. Unless you can devise a method for breeding bacon."

"It already exists, Dean. It's called pig husbandry."

"Cheeseburgers, then. Breeding cheeseburgers. Delicious, tender, baby cheeseburgers, barely weaned…"

"Dean…"

"Cheeseburger breeding – combining sex and cheeseburgers, two of my favourite things in the whole world. I'd get behind that, Sammy."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

Zan was so excited, he could barely sit still as the sun set. Once it did, he leapt up, and turned a couple of somersaults in the air.

"Make ourselves at home!" he practically sang, "Make ourselves at home! He wants us to stay, Tiem!"

"For now, he said, for now," qualified Tiem, grimacing and shifting where he'd roosted. "We have to show we're up to the duty, but he seems to be willing to give us a chance."

Zan watched his brother move uncomfortably. "Are you feeling a bit better?"

"Eeeeuuuurgh," groaned Tiem, one hand resting tentatively on his stomach, "Please don't do any more somersaults."

"It serves you right," sniffed Zan, "Eating so many pigeons, then all that junk food."

"Hey, it's to be disposed of!" Tiem justified his post-pigeon cull pig-out on the broken lenses. "The Guardian says I can take care of it, as a duty," he added a little smugly.

"So, what do we do now?" asked Zan, turning another somersault just to get a grimace from his brother. "The warding is thinning over there," he pointed to a far corner of the yard. "Shouldn't we investigate?"

"Of course," Tiem smiled at his brother's eagerness, "Right after we check with the Guardian. Chain of authority, Zanny," he reminded his brother. He burped hugely, and felt a bit better. His brother's enthusiasm was infectious. "And I think I heard the man of Knowledge put some more pieces in that bin. Don't want to neglect my duty, first night on the job!"

"You're disgusting," said Zan primly.

"You're squeamish," countered Tiem, turning a somersault of his own and batting at his brother's wing.

"Fiend."

"Wretch."

They laughed together, then swooped down to bow to the Guardian, and report their first observations.

* * *

><p>Reviews are the Big Pink Bows around the Impressively Carved Gargoyle Phallus of Life.<p> 


	5. OMGWTFBBQ!

ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG !111!11!one!

*runs around screaming and waving arms about*

ZOMG _WTF_ **BBQ!**

*runs around some more*

She'sdrawnthem

She'sdrawnthem

She'sdrawnthem

She'sdrawnthem

LEAHELISABETH HAS DRAWN THEM!11!one!

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

You MUST go to:

http COLON SLASH SLASH leah-elisabeth DOT livejournal DOT com SLASH 1088 DOT html

and look!

Tiem even has freckles! AND TEH PINK BOW!

I has teh tres tres tres jalouse of teh people who can draw.

Thank you Leahelisabeth.

I can see that I'm going to have to start a livejournal account just so I can run around on that corner of the interwebs, screaming in excitement and telling people to go and look at them.


	6. Chapter 5

Having pictures of them to look at is a wonderful inspiration. Is it just me, or does Zan look perilously close to pulling a gravelpuss expression? Expressing distaste at his brother's dietary habits, perhaps...

FFN has Gone Buggy again, but I'm hoping this will function as a work-around. If you're reading this, it worked.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

_One more, just one more… _

She hissed angrily between her teeth, racking her brain (and that was so much easier since she'd shoved that knife into her meat-suit's gut, and when the gurgling shrieking in her head had finally stopped, the silence was much appreciated, thank you very much) for the Words of Power. If only she had her book! She grinned to herself; she would have her book, tonight, and then, and then, she could pick up where she left off thirty years – more than three millennia Hell-time – ago. First things first, though. This last one…

With a small subsonic _snap_, the last charm gave way. The warding was breached. She stepped across the boundary.

No doubt the house would be crawling with traps, but there were ways to detect them before you stood on them. Hell's mine-sweeper, she snorted without mirth, preferring not to think about what she'd had to do in the Pit in exchange for learning that little trick. And then…

She hoped he had a bottle of something strong, and of decent quality, so she could celebrate immediately when she was done.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

Bobby sat back from his desk and stretched, with a yawn. He'd been so caught up in one of the manuscripts that Sam had procured for him at the Fardlehaus Hall book sale that he'd lost track of time. And he'd learned some interesting things about gargoyles.

He wondered how the two idjits – he smirked to himself, thinking that he'd better not use the names he'd privately given them out loud if the Winchesters were staying – had found their way to the States. The lore for carving and… 'animating' wasn't the right word, because it wasn't two separate steps, the carver had to use stone from the right source, and call forth the life from it as he carved… anyway, the knowing of it had been lost in northern Europe, centuries ago. Yet here they were. Two more strays. Was there a sign, flashing in occult neon, over his yard somewhere that he hadn't noticed, he wondered.

At least they had escaped the demolition of the old school. Bobby was not a sentimentalist, but he had very definite Ideas about the treatment of intelligent working creatures, and abandonment was not something to be tolerated. Somebody had known about the incantation, had tried to ensure that there would be a way to let them leave if necessary. He wondered if the rendering of Latin with the Greek alphabet had been a prudent precaution – he had a sudden mental picture of a school full of boys, all learning Latin, being able to read the incantation correctly. Sooner or later one of them would have figured out what it meant and what it did, especially if there was a headmaster who encouraged them to read widely in his decidedly esoteric library. He laughed outright at the thought of what an intelligent boy could do by way of pranks with two gargoyles at his bidding. It would've make All-Terrain Baby Jesus look like a whoopee cushion…

Moving carefully so as not to startle the face at the window, where two big shining eyes peering timidly yet curiously into his study – he didn't need to see the reflection in a glass cabinet door, he had been a Hunter for too long – he turned off the light without turning around. No need to go scarin' the critter. He grinned to himself, and remembered another face that had been wide-eyed and mesmerised by the rows and piles of books, then headed for bed.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

Tiem sat atop his gate, watching his brother peering carefully into the dimly lit window. Patience, he thought, young Zan had to learn patience. The light went out, and his brother silently sprang from the window, to land on his own gate.

"So many books, Tiem!" he breathed in amazement, "He has so many books!"

"Of course he does. He is a man of Knowledge. You have to be patient, Zanny. You have to be careful," Tiem rumbled to him, an undercurrent of concern in his voice. Gargoyles did not interact with humans. Watched them, warned them, but did not interact. The old scholar who had managed to release them from the teeth of the flames had been an exception, made under the direst of circumstances. Zan, though, had happy memories of the old man, who had been so kindly and patient and indulgent (especially with the younger gargoyle) until they were ready to leave and take up duty at another church where the brothers and the people were more cognisant of old wisdom, and welcomed their new sentinels. He had even come to visit occasionally, smiling and waving up at them. Zan, fully capable by then of roosting without mortar to hold him in place, had been hard pressed not to wave back, or even swoop down to take the hermit's arm in greeting.

"I know," replied Zan, his wings drooping a little.

"Sit up straight, then," instructed Tiem, as Zan pulled himself more upright, folding his wings neatly, "And pay attention." He looked backwards across the yard. "Something has been compromising the wards," he said, "The Guardian says it's been going on for a week. She has been to investigate, and has smelled sulphur."

"A demon?" gasped Zan.

Tiem nodded. "Most likely," he confirmed. "We must be alert, to call warning if something gets through."

Zan nodded. They had called warning on demons before. But that has been when they had taken duty at a church, consecrated ground, with an order of ordained monks, and Hunters nearby, to deal with the threat. Here, there was the man of Knowledge, the Guardian, her pup… and them.

Did anybody even remember how to hear it anymore?

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

The palpable snapping that accompanied the breach of the wards pulled Zan out of his ruminations.

"Tiem!" he hissed urgently.

"I felt it," growled his brother. He expanded his chest, and called a Warning to the Guardian, the subsonic rumble too low for human hearing reaching down to travel through the yard.

She was already out of her kennel – she was a Hunter's dog, after all, this was the way of things – with her pup beside her. The younger dog's eyes glowed angry red in the darkness, like banked coals being fanned, and she emitted a low growl of her own that was too deep and menacing to be coming from such a young bitch.

"Did he hear us?" asked Zan, scanning the house anxiously. The lights in the house remained out.

"I don't know," replied Tiem, his eyes searching out the figure moving silently amongst the car bodies, in their direction. He Called again, but there was nothing indicating any sort of movement in the house.

"What do we do, Tiem?" He heard his brother's plea under the question. _We cannot sit here and let… that get too close_.

The Guardian glanced up at them and let out a quiet deep bark. The message was clear. _Stay put. Bide your time. Wait._

Reluctantly, both gargoyles sat still, as if roosting, while the she-pup slid noiselessly into a pool of deep shadow, and the Guardian waited to confront the intruder.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

When she stepped boldly into the clear ground beside the house a few minutes later, feebly illuminated by a single outdoor light, she was surprised by what she saw. A large dog sat calmly in the middle of the pool of light, watching her with curiosity, but making no move to attack, or even snarl. Not much of a watchdog, she thought. She'd expected more from this old bastard, not one of those 'watch' dogs that would deal with burglars by making the burglar sprain an ankle tripping over the dog, then licking them into submission, or beating them up with a wagging tail.

"Hey, girl," she said sweetly to the dog, "I'm just here to pay a visit to your human Daddy, okay?" The dog remained motionless, then cocked its head sideways. Combined with the big brown eyes, the effect was adorable.

She laughed quietly to herself, and turned for the house.

The dog quietly repositioned itself before her, and issued a challenge in a language, both vocal and postural, not known to humans, but crystal clear to the demon.

_I am Guardian here. This is my Pack's Territory. This is my Pack's Den._

_Your Pack is not welcome. You are not welcome._

_Intruder. Leave now._

* * *

><p>Reviews are the Whoopee Cushions under the seats of the Sofa Of Life.<p> 


	7. Chapter 6

Writing action is not my forte, but I think we all want to see what the non-humans of the yard can do.

Rating for this story has been changed from K+ to T, as we've found a demon that's just as foul-mouthed as Dean.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"Well, what do we have here?" purred the demon viciously, "An honest-to-Lucifer Hunter's dog. And here I was, thinking you were a junkyard mutt." She drew a wicked-looking knife. "You are a cutie, though. Would you like to eat your human Daddy's guts for him while he watches?"

The dog didn't move, simply repeated the instruction.

_You are not welcome. Leave now._

"Sorry, Lassie," the demon told her with a mocking smirk, "Not part of the plan just yet. I have business inside."

The dog shifted position again, sitting in an unconcerned fashion.

_Leave now._

The demon hefted her knife, the edge glittering wickedly in the wan light. "It's noble, in a way, but pointless," she told the Guardian. "I will go through you like a hot knife through butter. You have no chance against me."

The dog appeared to consider her message.

_I do not wish to fight you. I am not here to fight you._

"Hmmm, it's true, you are a smart breed," grinned the demon. "I may come back for you when I'm finished."

She took another step towards the house. The dog moved again to intercept her.

_I do not wish to fight you._

"Then what the hell are you doing, besides pissing me off? Trying to commit suicide?" The demon waved the blade threateningly.

_I am distracting you. So my whelp can get behind you._

"What?" She hesitated less than a second, then realised the dog was not looking at her, but past her.

_Good girl._

Behind her, she heard…

A growl that travelled through the ground and arrived via her shoes, a growl that she'd hoped she'd never hear again, a growl that conveyed a single meaning, a single intent:

_Prey._

She spun around, and let out an involuntary little noise of terror at the snarling, slavering mouthful of teeth bared at her below a pair of _those_ eyes, points of red-hot malice.

No, she thought, that's impossible, that's impossible…

Out of reflex rather than anything else, she waved a hand at it, intending to hurl the pup crashing into the side of the house.

Her lash of power had no effect.

Quick as a snake, the gaping muzzle snapped out and latched onto her arm.

The great thing about taking a meat-suit, especially a dead one, she'd noticed, was that it was nearly impossible for a mortal, human or otherwise, to inflict any sort of pain. Oh, if an elephant sat on her, she suspected it would sting a bit – to start with, at least – but she'd discovered that the people she'd encountered, the drunks, the sleazes, the would-be attackers, they'd been puzzled, at first, when their best-landed, hardest-hitting blows had hardly made her sway, then they'd been alarmed when she'd hit back, breaking bones and tearing flesh, then they'd been terrified when she'd started rending and battering like she actually meant it. She'd been attacked by a couple of dogs, too, but their jaws were like flea-bites, and being animals they were a lot better at seeing what was actually right in front of them, and a lot better at taking self-preserving action, like running the fuck away.

But this dog, this _puppy_, it was inflicting pain, hot searing pain, of a type she hadn't experienced since, since…

She lashed out viciously with her knife. The dog dodged, but didn't let go, eyes still bubbling angry red. She slashed at it again. This time, it had to let go to avoid having its throat cut, but it immediately darted back in to grab her again.

The larger dog leapt, grabbing for her knife arm, but was easily sent tumbling away, yelping, with a flick of power. She turned her attention back to the smaller mutt, determinedly holding its ground. They resumed their dance, slash, dodge, slash, dodge, the demon raking the animal's side with the blade, the dog continually returning to grab hold of its attacker.

_Screw this_, thought Tiem, _Time well and truly bided_. He shook out his wings, and threw a glance at his brother who was watching in horror.

"Get to the Guardian!" he ordered, "The Guardian must call a warning!" He launched himself into the air, dodging above the fight, looking for an opening.

"Tiem!" called his brother, "Tiem, be careful!" Zan shot across the yard to where the Guardian was lying, one eye still on his brother. He desperately hoped Tiem wouldn't do anything rash.

"Guardian! Madam! Guardian!" he called desperately, shaking the dog's withers, as she panted to regain her breath and struggle to her feet. "You must call the Warning! I don't think he heard my brother! Madam! You must call!"

He heard an angry hiss as Tiem dived in at the demon. Zan called for his brother in panic. The demon had a knife that was capable of injuring a half-Hellhound; what would such a weapon do to a gargoyle?

His brother hovered momentarily, grinning down at him. What was needed here, he decided, was some sort of distraction, so that the she-pup could keep hold of the demon without getting hurt.

With a determined expression he grabbed hold of his phallus in both hands, and dived back in.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

Tiem was older than Zan. Not that much older in gargoyle terms, but in the way that humans think of the passing of years, he was a lot older. The church that had burned just a couple of weeks after Zan had arrived had not been his first place of duty; before that he had guarded a smaller church, and before that, when he was newly carved, a grand cathedral.

He had been in place there for only a week, still needing the mortar at his feet to balance at his roost during the day, stretching his wings and flapping them clumsily at night, when a grand delegation had arrived for the consecration of the building. He had been utterly entranced by the occasion: the beautiful singing, the majestic, rolling phrasing of the sermon and the readings, the exotic scents of the incense, the sense of barely contained joy as the new bells rang their first peal… he was so young, and everything was so new and wonderful and solemn and joyful all at once, he had not been able to stop the smile spreading across his face, in broad daylight, where any one of thousands of people could have seen his stony features rearrange themselves.

The Archbishop, an elderly, venerated churchman of more worldly knowledge that his followers would ever have believed, was blessing the monks and the congregation, chanting prayers and sprinkling holy water. As he passed Tiem's roosting place, he glanced up, and saw the sunny, eager smile on the gargoyle's face.

So quietly that nobody else heard him, the old man chuckled and observed "Well, with one like that, I'd be smiling, too," to himself, and flicked his aspergillum upwards, giving Tiem a sprinkle too. "May you always find something to smile about."

He had been there, part of the building, still growing into his role for duty, when it was consecrated, and he had himself been blessed. Back then, that sort of rite, backed by that sort of belief, could have powerful influences. Especially on a growing gargoyle. So whether it was that day, or whether it had been the skill of his carver, he'd never know.

All that was really important, right now, was that Tiem had a peculiar talent that was particularly useful for distracting demons, so he deployed it.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

The demon was angry. No, she wasn't angry, she was fucking ropeable. Somehow, somehow, this dog, this fucking _puppy_, was hanging onto her, was impossible to bat away like a rag doll, it was fucking hurting her, and she was NOT HAPPY. She lined up another swipe at it with her knife – it might be acting like it was part Hellhound, but her knife could cut it. She'd armed herself with a weapon that could cut anything, she'd seen to that. All she needed to do was get in one good slash at it…

She heard a booming flap above her and an inrush of air, suggestive of something plummeting towards her. She looked up, and did a double-take. Was that… no, impossible, they'd been forgotten for two hundred years at least.

She lifted her knife to slash at it, wondering what the hell it was doing, braking in mid-air, turning, was the damned thing cocking it's leg?...

She stopped wondering as a carefully aimed squirt of holy water hit her right between the eyes.

"Bullseye!" crowed Tiem, whirling in the air and heading in for another attack.

The Guardian hauled herself to her feet, assisted by Zan, and set up a loud, savage barking.

"Bombs away!" called Tiem, zooming past, cocking his leg and taking aim once more, hitting the demon in the face again. She swore at him, letting loose a long string of bad language. He wheeled back, swooping in behind her.

"Weeeeeeeee!" he called, doing it, sailing past and setting the back of her head smoking.

"Tiem, be careful!" cried Zan, as his brother flashed another big grin, turning easily in the air, and took aim for another barrage.

The angry demon struck out with the knife, changing the angle at the last minute…

With a noise like a metal saw screeching through concrete, the blade sheared off the second joint of Tiem's wing. Zan watched in horror as his brother tumbled to the ground in a barely-controlled crash-landing, the piece of his wing dropping like so much useless stone before him.

"TIEM!" he screamed, swooping to his brother.

"Leave it, I'm all right!" his big brother snapped, gasping and pulling in his wounded wing, "Stop her! Don't let her hurt the she-pup!"

A yelp behind them signalled that the demon had struck home with the knife; blood welled from a long cut on the dog's side, but she sprang back in to grab its arm once more.

With a determined expression, Zan launched himself skywards, then plunged down towards the demon, talons outstretched.

"Nobody messes with my brother!" he yelled.

A sly smile on her face, the demon hit out skyward, the wicked blade hissing through the air towards his face.

Zan turned mid-air at the last second, grabbed her wrist in both his hind claws, and flapped as hard as he could upwards.

"LET GO OF ME!" the demon shrieked, striking out at him with power. He felt the force batter against him, but hung on, and righted himself as soon as it passed, straining upwards again, grabbing and grasping and squeezing as hard as he could. The invisible force hit him again, harder, but he maintained trim, and concentrated on _up_…

He was starting to lose pitch control from the violent invisible blows landing on him, but he put his head down and flapped and flapped and flapped as hard as he could.

An authoritative voice rang out into the night.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

The demon screamed. In between wing beats, Zan looked over his shoulder. The man of Knowledge was making his way from the house to the yard.

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…"

The demon screamed again, caught between the dog's jaws and the gargoyle's claws. Zan redoubled his efforts, flapping and pulling and squeezing.

"Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…"

The demon dropped the knife, and spat angrily at the man of Knowledge.

"I'm going to kill you!" she hissed in rage, "I am here to gut your worthless carcass!"

"Looks like you already started with your meat-suit," observed the man sadly, seeing the bleeding from the fatal wound evident on the young woman's clothes.

"What do you care?" she growled at him, "This body is just another human piece of shit."

"Oh, I do care," the old man told her, "Because knowin' that girl's already dead makes it a lot easier to do this." He bent down to pick up her knife, and plunged it between her ribs.

The disbelieving shriek of "Noooooooooooo!" gave way to a wordless, mindless wailing, as the dead girl's body briefly lit from within while the demon was destroyed, then dissipated as a fading hiss with the wisps of dispersing black smoke that signified its demise.

"It's done," pronounced the man. Zan let go and flew straight to his brother, who was clutching his wing, and the dog let go as her dam came to her side, sniffing and licking at her ears and her wounds.

"Oh, Tiem," Zan's voice wobbled, "Your wing, your poor wing…"

"It's all right, Zanny," Tiem told him shakily, "I'll just have to fly around in circles, and you can say I'm drunk."

They both froze at the sound of footfalls, aware that the man was now standing over them, watching them keenly. They knew he couldn't hear their voices, which were too low pitched for human ears, but he gave the distinct impression of understanding what was going on.

He fixed Zan with his thoughtful stare. "I got to see to my dog," he said gruffly, "She's flesh and blood, and I got to see to her first. But then I'll come back and see what can be done for your pal here. You understand?" Zan stood, and made a shaky bow. "Okay then. You find that piece of wing, and then stay here with him." With that, he turned away and headed back to the she-pup, crooning encouragingly to her. Zan squared his shoulders and, with his brother's nod, took to the air. It would be easier to spot the pieces from above.


	8. Chapter 7

**ZOMG ****ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG **ZOMG _MORE GARGOYLE PICTURES!_******************

*runs about flapping hands up and down in excitement* SQUEEEEEEEEEE!

Bartlebead has now rendered her version of Zan and Tiem, and it's hilarious! Tiem is clearly very comfortable in his own skin, while poor Zan droops slightly in mortification.

**Tiem:** It's a beautiful, natural thing, Zan, intended for beautiful, natural acts...

**Zan:** Kill me now.

So, STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING, and go look at it, at

http: SLASH SLASH rince1wind DOT livejournal DOT com/29391 DOT html

You may have to ask nicely to get permission to view this page, so message her about it if you get the disturbing goat. I got the disturbing goat. Grud, that goat messed with my head... Disturbing goat is disturbing.

Ahem. Anyway, it appears that gargoyle pictures are utterly inspirational, because here's the final chapter. It's a bit fluffy, but I think they deserve a bit of fluff, given the night they've just had. And I like happy endings.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Zan watched, fascinated in spite of himself. He was less inhibited than his brother about moving openly in front of humans – Tiem seemed to be experiencing more discomfort about such a close interaction with the man than from his damaged wing – and constantly adjusted his position to watch what was going on. He even warily handed a few tools to the man, smiling happily when he'd correctly anticipated what would be asked for.

It had been a difficult night; the man of Knowledge had made them a nest of old blankets and bedding in one of his sheds, telling them he'd need some more information and daylight to deal with Tiem's wing. The dogs had abandoned their kennel and joined them, offering reassurance and company. The Guardian inspected Tiem's wing, rumbling her approval of them both. The she-pup, perhaps sensing Zan's distress at his brother's injury, licked his ears in sympathy, and curled next to him as he roosted miserably, clinging to his brother.

Now, in the late morning sun, Tiem sat as still as if he was roosting, his damaged wing stretched awkwardly while the man poked, prodded, measured, re-measured, and finally hefted a drill. The drilling didn't hurt, but it was unnerving.

"Just a little bit of structural reinforcement," explained the man, seeing the curious expression on the younger gargoyle's face as he carefully checked the length of the pins he'd fashioned from reinforcement mesh. "They'll hold it in place while the adhesive cures." Finally satisfied, He mixed up a batch of gloopy smelly stuff. "Ceramic cement," he told Zan, "With a few little extra ingredients to make it suitable for gargoyle orthopaedic surgery."

The gloop went onto the pins, into the holes, and over the broken surfaces of Tiem's wing – he winced, because it stung a bit – then the man repositioned the repaired wing.

Ten minutes later, he instructed Tiem, "Okay, let's see you stretch that all the way out."

Tiem gingerly extended his pinions, and... his wing unfurled seamlessly behind him. He folded and flexed it a couple of times, then gave it a gentle experimental flap, his smile widening with every movement.

The man of Knowledge grunted with satisfaction. "That stuff will take a couple of days to cure completely, so for the next two days, no flying. You wanna go anywhere, you gotta walk. You understand? You have to let your wing... repair." Tiem bowed his head in acquiescence, trying to squelch the expression that hinted at exactly what he thought of being grounded, even for a very serious reason. "Good. So," he turned to Zan, "You look like a big lad, you think you can get him back up to his roost?" He jerked a thumb towards the gates.

Zan grinned hugely and bobbed a perfunctory bow before grabbing Tiem under the arms and lifting him skywards, to hover over the sign before gently depositing his brother in his chosen position. It was just as well the man couldn't hear them: Tiem cursed creatively during the entire exercise, while Zan made infuriating comments about just following direct instructions.

"All right, you idjits, knock it off," the man chided gently, "I may not be able to hear your voices, but I know a good old-fashioned bicker when I see it." The gargoyles subsided, and Zan swooped back down to sit before him. "All right, then," he continued. "You boys did real good last night. I suspect you tried to warn me, but I didn't hear you. There's a, well, I guess you'd call it a gargoyle radar, I can put together to pick that up, but it'll take some time to put it together. In the meantime, you just do what you did, and get the dogs to raise a racket." He looked from one to the other. "I'd be happy to have you stay here, for as long as it suits you. The more eyes on the yard, the better. And Rumsfeld approves of you, and she's a flawless judge of character. You just make sure you don't let anybody else see you movin' around – people don't understand about critters like you anymore. Not most of 'em, leastways. You're probably safe at night, though, anyone out late will just think they're seein' bats." He paused. "Well, I've got some work to do," he continued, "So I'll leave you to it. Remember, you," he frowned up at Tiem, "No flying. You get your pal here to help you. And you," he smiled down at Zan, "You make sure he doesn't do anything with that wing."

Zan gazed up at the man with a broad smile, then tentatively put out a hand to his arm, looking up with an enquiring expression.

Bobby looked down at the gargoyle and smiled, guessing at the question he was being asked. "If it's all the same with you two," he answered, "I'd rather not recite the incantation. I will if it makes you more comfortable, but… I don't hold with tetherin' intelligent critters. It aint right. Sounds like you had a narrow escape from Fardlehaus Hall." His face became serious for a moment. "Last night wasn't the first time I've had something real nasty come here. If anything… catastrophic happens here, I want you two idjits to be able to take off, and get away. You hear me? If it ever comes to it, you get the hell out, and go find a place to be safe." At the plaintive look on the younger gargoyle's face, he looked sternly up to the other one. "I mean it. If it ever all goes to shit here, you take him, and make sure you get out." The repaired gargoyle nodded seriously from his roost. "All right, then. You get yourself back up there," he addressed the younger one again, "And don't scare any civilians."

The gargoyle offered him another smile, and leapt for his perch above the gate. The bickering flared briefly again, and then they settled to utter stillness, looking as though they had been carved in place.

Bobby shook his head. "Idjits," he muttered, "I'm clearly some sort of idjit magnet." He bade the gargoyles good morning, using the names he'd given them, and mentally reminded himself not to do that when the Winchesters were around.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"Zaaaaaan," called Tiem, "I'm hungryyyyyyy."

"What?" Zan swooped back from his spot by the window, where he had been watching the man of Knowledge reading. He sounded annoyed. "How can you be hungry? You ate a squirrel already!"

"It must be because I'm repairing," suggested Tiem. "Go get me a pigeon."

"You ate just about all the pigeons already!" Zan told him, exasperated.

"There's a couple roosting in that old car, over there," Tiem pointed. "Just one for now, please."

Zan pulled a definite gravelpuss. "Since when am I your servant?"

"Since the man of Knowledge told me not to fly, and you to help me," grinned Tiem smugly, "Which makes it a duty. So, go get me a pigeon, wretch!"

"Fiend," grumbled Zan, launching himself towards the unfortunate pigeons' roosting place.

"And bring me crunchy plastic!" added Tiem. "With red bits!"

Zan returned with his brother's snack requirements, and returned to his own roost. "He called us by our names," he mused in wonder, "How do you think he knows our names?"

"Well, he didn't get the pronunciation _exactly_ right," noted Tiem, spitting out a particularly prickly feather, "But it was pretty impressive. I guess that comes from being a man of Knowledge."

"He does have lots of books," nodded Zan thoughtfully.

"There. You see? He probably did a spell to work it out," Tiem chewed contentedly.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Zan corrected automatically. "I hope we never have to leave," he added quietly. "I like it here."

Tiem paused in his snacking. "We will, one day, Zanny," he replied gently. "It's just the way of things. But not for a long time. We can stay as long as we like. He said so, which means, it's practically our duty to stay." His logic might be a bit dubious, but it made Zan smile happily at the thought, so that was all right. "You want some?"

"No, I'll go and get my own." Zan launched himself again, while Tiem finished his pigeon, burped hugely, and started on his tail light pieces. "Hey!" he called, "Hey! I said lots of red bits! There's not enough red bits! Bring more red bits!"

With an exasperated noise, Zan put his pigeon in his mouth and dropped to the ground by the disposal bin. He found a rusting tin can, and scooped up a canful of fragments, then returned to his brother, holding it out to him.

"Thien'," he said around his pigeon.

"Wretch," grinned Tiem, picking out a red piece.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

The weather stayed cold but fine, so Bobby armed himself with coffee and a plate of cookies that one of his lady acquaintances had sent him, and took his book outside. He set a comfortable folding chair against a car body, and settled himself to his latest book. Rumsfeld and Janis settled at his feet, waiting patiently for the inevitable cookie crumbs.

"I've been going through some of the books from Fardlehaus Hall," he announced to nobody in particular, "And one of them has a section on gargoyles. I thought it would be interesting to read, since so much of what was known about them has been lost."

He barely heard the flap of wings, and there was no sound at all from the landing. He grinned to himself as the face that kept appearing in his study window peeked shyly yet avidly at the book over his shoulder.

He handed a cookie backwards over his head. "Take this one to your, well, brother, according to this," he instructed. He felt the air displace as the bulk behind him left briefly, then silently returned. He handed over another cookie; a large, taloned hand of stone took it gently.

"There are some very interesting colour plates in this," Bobby continued, crunching on his own cookie. "That was tricky to do back when this book was printed, so it must've been considered very important. These runes, for instance…"

It turned into a pleasant afternoon, sitting in the sun, reading the old manuscript. Occasionally, Bobby would pause to make some notes. Stone talons would creep to the plate, and take two more cookies, leaving briefly then returning to keep reading the book.

Tiem allowed himself to move in the daylight, just this once, to eat his cookies. They were pretty good. Almost as good as red tail-light pieces.

He glanced back to where Zan perched, engrossed in the manuscript, as the man of Knowledge spoke about what they were reading, and smiled briefly. Then he finished his cookie, and roosted, returning his attention to his duty.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"I gotta say, Sammy, he's even more impressive than his picture suggested," grinned Dean two days later, gazing up at the gargoyle over the driver's side gate of Bobby's yard. "You handsome rogue, you! I wonder if the carver was doing a self-portrait?"

"Anatomical exaggeration was common for gargoyles around the 15th and 16th centuries," Sam commented. "They were meant to be representations, reminders, of what would befall people if they strayed from the teachings of the church, since ordinary people weren't allowed to read the Bible."

"So, if you're bad, when you die you go somewhere where there's perpetual sex?" Dean considered that. "Maybe I should rethink this whole Righteous Man gig."

Sam rolled his eyes. "The smaller one is older," he continued, "Judging by the carving style and the erosion…"

"He's not smaller where it really counts," leered Dean. He frowned at the other one. "If that one's younger, who does he have lichen on his head?"

"Maybe he was located somewhere a bit damper than the other one," suggested Sam.

"Well, it makes him look emo," declared Dean. "We can't have emo gargoyles at Bobby's yard. Who ever heard of an emo gargoyle? He needs a good scrub to get rid of it."

"I don't know," mused Sam, "I think it makes him look kinda… thoughtful."

"Thoughtful?" echoed Dean. "Well, it takes an emo-in-need-of-a-haircut to know an emo-in-need-of-a-haircut, I guess. Nothing a scrubbing brush and some hot water can't fix. I wish I could say the same for you."

"Don't you dare scrub his head!" Sam told him. "Do you know how long it takes lichen to form? That could be centuries old! It could be an unique combination of symbionts, maybe not found anywhere else. It would be vandalism!"

"It would be grooming, it what it would be," countered Dean. "Now this guy," he jerked a thumb at the well-endowed gargoyle, "Clearly knows that the lady gargoyles appreciate the clean-cut look. No lichen on him."

"Are you suggesting that manscaping attracts women?" asked Sam. "Because if that's the case, you are screwed – I can't see you letting anyone near you with a pot of hot wax, you scream like a girl just ripping a band-aid off…"

"Maybe we should try it with your first – it couldn't possibly make things any worse," sighed Dean, a bit sadly. "You need to get laid, Sam. If you have to get your legs waxed for it to happen, that's a sacrifice I'm prepared to make. Now come on, Bobby wants to talk to you about your gargoyles, I'll make you a waxing appointment later. You want a manzilian with that?"

"Don't worry," Sam told the gargoyle on this side of the car as he got back in, "I won't let him scrub your head."

"I wonder if you make the lady gargoyles scream," Dean mused at the one on his side.

"What lady gargoyles?" asked Sam. "There are no lady gargoyles. They're both clearly male."

"Hmmmm, we might have to remedy that," mused Dean. "Although the one that looks like you could pass for female. With all that lichen."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

A few days later, after they left for their next job, Bobby walked out into his yard to discover that Dean Winchester had been At It Again.

It had daisies planted around it.

Bobby took off his hat, and scratched his head. Actually, as garden gnomes – well, it was very obviously a garden gnomess, to be technical – went, it wasn't that bad. He walked around it, and decided that he might as well leave it there.

There was no point wondering _why_ Dean had decided he needed a garden gnomess. That would be like wondering why he'd needed a giant rubber goldfish, or mating stuffed chupacabras, or All-Terrain Baby Jesus on the roof.

No, the real question here, the real question was: where the _hell_ had Dean found a Bettie Page garden gnome?

**THE END**

* * *

><p>Ta-dah! (With a big pink bow). That's all for now. Weren't they a couple of fun OCs? That squeaking noise you can hear is the sound of another plot bunny getting stomped. Huzzah for stomping on plot bunnies!<p>

As ever, reviews are the Gargoyle Drawings in the LiveJournal Of Life.


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